


Stars Forever

by The Key To Imagine (whiskeywit)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 13:11:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10438452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeywit/pseuds/The%20Key%20To%20Imagine
Summary: Title: Stars ForeverRating: GWord Count: 862Disclaimer: I don't own the Beatles or their rights. This is but a work of fiction.A/N: Haven't really in the mood to write lately, but here's a little something anyway. Written for the prompt “star”. Enjoy.





	

Stars Forever  
  
  
Standing on the balcony, the soft rustle of the trees far away, the sound of traffic dulled by the height they were at – the top floor of a hotel, their heads turned upwards.   
  
“The stars,” John whispered, his breath forming little clouds in the cold night air. It was early-springtime, and while the afternoons were becoming warm, filled with sunshine, and the evenings hotter, surrounded by excited fans who came to their concerts, the evenings were still cold as ever – since the time they had been playing in the darkness of German nights – playing in the gritty and dirty clubs in Hamburg.   
  
“Yeah,” Paul replied, as quiet as John and as impressed, and they both knew they didn't want to break the fragility of the spell that seemed to be layered upon this night. Usually there was the rain ticking against the windows – usually at night and sometimes in the afternoon, too. Or it would drench them, while playing and singing and sharing a microphone, scared something might happen to them as electricity and water doesn't seem a good match, unless you want to cast a show of bright bolts of energy, coming out in the form of perhaps a fire or a shock for any of those on-stage.   
  
Now, high above them, there were the stars shining, surrounding an even brighter moon. The usual sounds of the city had since long died away, and as said before, the sounds of traffic and rustling of trees were only background noise, overpowered by the heavy silence that rested upon them. Both men – because that's what they now were, young still but certainly men, not very different but not similar either to the boys they had once been, when they had first met, or the adolescents when they travelled to Hamburg – breathed quietly, calm and deep, and for the first time in a long time they also _felt_ they were breathing, opposed to the usual feeling of suffocation, being dragged from one place to another without really seeing anything of the world like they had hoped they would.  
  
Then it stayed silent for a very long time. Their hands rested on the balcony's safety ridge, and their heads were still turned upwards, their eyes watching the soft flicker of the small but bright stars, so high above their heads and so far away, and yet everything seemed so close, within reach if only one of them would lift an arm or lift the other.   
  
Eventually the sky started to fill with clouds, slowly gathering and packing above their heads, making the stars fade and the moon shine less, the threat of rain slowly blowing around them in the wind that had started to blow softly at first, and got heavier.   
  
Just before they turned their backs to being alone and being free, John spoke up again.  
  
“I wonder if they ever feel lonely like we do, high above everything else. I mean, I suppose they are a bit like us, the stars.” He sighed as he looked at Paul, his hand already resting on the handle of the door that would lead them inside again, away from the cold and the momentary feeling of freedom.  
  
“Well,” Paul replied with a wry smile, “I suppose they aren't called stars because of nothing.”  
  
“You're absolutely right. It's just as if...” John frowned.  
  
“As if what?” Paul asked.  
  
“Nah, nothing,” John wavered it off, forcing a smile, “let's go inside, it's bound to start raining soon.”  
  
And indeed, as soon as they both were inside again, the oppressive heat of a room that's too warm, the first rain drops started to fall. When John looked outside, he caught one last glimpse of a star before a cloud shifted in front of it, taking away the last piece of the night's sky he'd admired so much only minutes ago. And he assumed the stars _were_ like them – they would always be, hidden underneath piles of other records, other things, and they would always seem within reach for the ones who looked up against them, while they – the stars in this case- were those looking down from above – exactly like when they were looking down at the people when they were playing on-stage, knowing they were out of reach, or like tonight, when they were standing on the balcony on the top floor of a prestigious hotel.   
  
“I bet they're lonely like us,” he whispered, not so much to anyone in particular, but much more in himself. Then there was a hand on his shoulder, and a pair of gentle eyes met his, while the curtains were being closed, shutting them off from the outside world and sheltering them like every other evening. At least that was something he did have, other than the real stars, high above their heads – others he could depend on in times the loneliness that was forced upon him became a weight that was too heavy to carry on his own – and the help came in the form of Paul, Ringo and George.


End file.
